Donald Trump’s recent military adventure in the Middle East has left a volatile global landscape in its wake. None of the declared war aims were achieved: the Iranian regime was not toppled, and the ceasefire terms agreed with Tehran offer more generous sanctions relief and fewer conditions than the nuclear containment deal Barack Obama signed in 2015 — an arrangement Trump himself discarded during his first term as “one of the worst deals ever”. Stocks of US munitions and credibility have been drained. For a leader incapable of owning a mistake, the humiliation will be nursed with vengeful spite; a wounded authoritarian compensates for exposure of weakness with ever more aggressive performances of strength.
A similar dynamic is playing out in the Kremlin. Vladimir Putin refuses to accept that his attempted conquest of Ukraine has failed, treating the war as an existential battle to preserve Russian honour against western hostility. Lack of progress on the frontline has fuelled increased belligerence elsewhere. Kyiv’s allies can expect more Russian provocations — sabotage, drone incursions, cyber-attacks — and less US support to deal with them. Russian troops still occupy roughly 20% of Ukrainian territory as of mid-2026, and Putin has acknowledged facing “problems” from Ukrainian drone strikes on infrastructure that have caused fuel shortages. His own account of bilateral talks with Trump in Anchorage in August 2025 conceded that no agreements were reached, contradicting earlier Russian claims.
Starmer’s defence gamble
It is against this backdrop that the Defence Investment Plan (DIP), published on Tuesday, matters so much — and why the delay in its completion has been so embarrassing for Keir Starmer. Managing a dangerous global situation was supposed to be his strong suit. He preferred diplomacy to politics, and was more respected on the international summitry circuit than in the parliamentary Labour party. That view served as insulation against the clamour for new leadership. But it became hard to sustain when the defence secretary resigned, citing frustration with the prime minister’s refusal to release resources vital to national security.
The DIP, intended to modernise Britain’s armed forces, commits an additional £15 billion ($20 billion) over four years, with total investment amounting to £298 billion. It includes significant funding for drones, autonomous weapons and a “hybrid” navy. Defence spending in the current financial year stands at £60.2 billion, projected to rise to £73.5 billion by 2028-29 — an average annual real-terms growth of 3.8%. The UK already spends 2.3% of GDP on defence, with commitments to increase that to 2.5% by 2027 and 3.5% by 2035.
Yet the plan has been dogged by funding disputes. Defence chiefs reportedly wanted £28 billion more than was allocated, and critics inside the Ministry of Defence argue the numbers do not add up. Military chiefs always want more money, and chancellors query whether existing budgets have been properly managed — the MoD’s record on that score is dismal. Mediating such disputes, forcing compromises and choosing between imperfect options is a core competence of any prime minister, but Starmer was reluctant to intervene, not only on defence but in countless other cases where ministers had rival demands that could only be settled from No 10. The result, according to those familiar with the plan, is that the DIP effectively becomes a “delayed-action poison pill” for his successor. Andy Burnham, the clear frontrunner to take over, will inherit a funding gap of approximately £4.7 billion over the next four years — a shortfall that will need to be closed before the plan can deliver on its promises.
Burnham’s readiness
Burnham will be glad the DIP row is largely done before it becomes his problem, although similar problems will land on his desk soon enough. He also will not mind Starmer taking a valedictory turn on the international stage at the Nato summit in Ankara next week — that would be a tough first gig for a newbie prime minister with little experience of foreign affairs. Colleagues who have known Burnham for years, sharing cabinet and shadow cabinet tables with him, profess complete ignorance of his instincts on international questions. Close allies say he is pro-European and suspicious of big US technology companies, but those are not lodestars in a geopolitical constellation. There is no developed concept of Britain’s place in the world equivalent to the role that Manchester’s economic success plays in his analysis of the domestic sphere.
The gap will need urgent filling. That requires last-minute cramming on foreign policy and smart delegation. Burnham is reported to be eager to retain Jonathan Powell, Starmer’s respected national security adviser, who has been credited with behind-the-scenes negotiations on a potential Ukraine ceasefire. There is also speculation about a role for David Miliband, the former foreign secretary now president of the International Rescue Committee. Outsourcing geopolitics to a seasoned practitioner has obvious appeal to a prime minister who would rather be in Warrington than Washington.
Starmer deserves credit for keeping Britain out of the Iran war, for stalwart defence of Ukraine and for helping forestall a total US betrayal of Kyiv. But on close inspection, the record hardly tells a story of strategic foresight. There was no long-term thinking behind the decision to raid the international aid budget for a quick patch to military expenditure on the eve of a visit to the White House, trading decades of accrued soft power for a few hours of goodwill from Trump. Peter Mandelson, it transpired, was not such a shrewd ambassadorial appointment; his tenure was marred by security vetting issues and his association with Jeffrey Epstein, leading to his dismissal in September 2025. For the first 18 months of his time in Downing Street, Starmer denied that a policy of equal alignment with Washington and Brussels was unsustainable. He tilted to Europe only when Trump demanded possession of Greenland.
Starmer showed some of the same weakness overseas that, in acute form, finished his career at home. He could not narrate his actions — or inactions — as part of a bigger story. He made choices only when forced, so they never looked like part of a plan. When he finally settled on painful budget decisions, he could not convince the losers that their sacrifice was in service of any collective project. He could not inspire his MPs to make the argument for him because they also found his motives impenetrable.
Burnham is already better on that score. His performance in the Makerfield byelection and his speech on Monday, setting out an agenda for national renewal by redistribution of power, has given Labour MPs hope that their next leader is an upgrade when it comes to political basics. He knows what he is about. He sounds as though he means it. These are preconditions for reengaging with a disillusioned electorate. But Burnham’s story so far stops at the sea, with no view of the world beyond. That is not unusual for a new prime minister, but the next chapter will have to be written quickly and under enormous pressure. Only a few weeks remain before he enters Downing Street. His first international crisis will be along soon after.
